Ties that Bind, Bonds that Break
by Agashi
Summary: Named both hero and monster, Rem's only desire is to fool her companions into believing that she ISN'T confused every waking moment of the day. All she knows is that she's a child of Bhaal. Memories are as elusive as the pink-haired thief she's promised to rescue. Love may prove to be an even more challenging quarry. - Yoshimo Romance
1. Prologue

Disclaimer – I do not own Bladur's Gate, nor any of its characters, settings, or plots. The ones who do own them know who they are, and probably do not mind me borrowing them to write a non-profit fanfiction. That being said, they probably also will not care if I state this at the beginning of every chapter, so I will not, unless otherwise asked.

I apologize for my abruptness and offer a few insights into the story that may or may not enhance your reading experience. Feel free to skip ahead at any time as I doubt this will be interesting to many people.

Spoilers – If you haven't played the game in its entirety, you may not want to read this story as it contains some of the more notable twists in plot. Also, this author feels that there are many different kinds of love and it is possible to have a deep emotional connection with more than one person at a time. If you disagree with this opinion, please, I encourage you to challenge it in a polite, thoughtfully phrased review.

Other Exposition – It will never be explicitly stated, but in this story, the main character never traveled through Baldur's Gate with Jaheira or Minsc. That being said, they do not appear in this story.

* * *

**Prologue:**

"Do you think we can trust him, Rem?" The girlish voice spoke from the shadows somewhere on my right.

'Imoen,' my mind supplied, though the name carried no feelings of familiarity with it. My past was still as uncomfortably blank as it had been the moment I'd woken up to a pair of cold, empty sapphire eyes. I mentally retreated from the thought of my captor, not wanting to recall the torment I had suffered at his hands.

Those beautiful, long-fingered hands had reached into my cage on more than one occasion, though I had always been on the edge of consciousness when it happened. For what reason, I still did not know. Unsurprising really, as I barely knew my own name.

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I think I'd rather have him here where I can keep my eye on him," I answered, speaking in a barely audible whisper that the younger girl had to strain closer to hear.

Her unkempt and violently pink hair was badly in need of a wash. The color was just as shocking to me now, in the faint torchlight of this underground prison, as it had been when she had picked the lock of my cage and made her somewhat rushed introduction. She had called herself my friend and childhood companion, blue eyes misting with unshed tears when I confessed I did not know her face.

Her pale, round face, with its slightly dimpled chin and limp cheeks – as if they had very recently been full and rosy – stirred an inkling of recognition in me... But my memory banks seemed so far out of reach that, try as I might, the warmth of old friendship just didn't come to me.

The subject of her query was currently busying himself with looting the bodies of the assassins we had just dispatched. Watching his slim silhouette as he moved, I realized it was nothing short of a miracle we had come across him when we did.

Tired and poorly armed, Imoen and I had survived the first level of the dungeon nearly on stealth alone. Making liberal use of invisibility spells and the shadows, we succeeded in avoiding several confrontations that very likely would have resulted in our deaths.

As it was, I had nearly bled to death following an encounter with a diseased otyugh. The oozing creature had managed to catch me in the back with one of its barbed tentacles and my lightly enchanted sword, already too heavy for me to wield comfortably in one hand, suddenly seemed to weigh twice as much. A lucky arrow from Imoen pierced the beast's eye, and I had summoned my last reserves of strength to deliver the finishing blow.

Yoshimo had been a welcome sight. With his ready grin and roguish demeanor, I hadn't known what to make of him at first, though he had certainly proven himself to be, at the very least, a competent fighter in the room with the mephit generators. There was little doubt in my mind that Imoen and I would surely have been killed had we attempted to clear the room on our own.

After the fight, Yoshimo had approached me, battered and bruised, and gallantly offered the remaining contents of his last healing potion. Unsure what to make of the gesture, I had scanned the room for Imoen and seen the girl bent over a corpse on a table, muttering quietly to herself.

"...looks so familiar."

"Who is he?" I asked, after swigging the potion and handing the empty bottle back to Yoshimo. He withdrew slightly and busied himself about the room, examining cabinets and shelves.

"I'm not sure," she answered, looking as if she were queasy. I didn't blame her. "I think we met him around Baldur's Gate."

The body had been somewhat raggedly dissected, as if the knife that had been used lacked a sufficiently sharp edge. Several organs had been removed and lay in bowls of bloody water beside the body. Strangely, there was no excess blood surrounding it. Hopefully that meant the man had been dead long before the dissector had begun his grisly task.

A few words of comfort, a handful of gold, and two mysterious spell-scrolls later, we made our way northward through a door and pressed on. I guessed that a full day had elapsed since then, and wanted nothing more than to see blue skies again.

"Shall we press on, my young lovely?" I had been looking around, brooding on our grisly surroundings, when his accented voice reached my ear.

I thought wildly for a moment that the thief was addressing someone else, never mind that it was only me and Imoen down here. Blinking in surprise at his ill-timed jest, I reflexively met his gaze. He had a slightly dark complexion, though it was difficult to tell in the gloom of our dank prison. Almost like mine, I thought, curiously taking in his slanted black eyes, and lean build.

"Uhm. I don't know if I mentioned it earlier, but my name's Rem... and to answer your question, not yet. It's safe to say we have no idea how far we are from the exit, or what we'll even find when we get there. I think we should try to take rest where we can get it..."

"Right here, though?" Imoen asked, her voice sounding strained. I immediately dropped my gaze from Yoshimo's to find her in the dark. The girl was seriously beginning to worry me.

For all I knew, she had always behaved like this, and I might even say her unhinged attitude was justified under these circumstances... but intuitively perhaps, I knew that her fundamental personality was different – less paranoid. The expression on her face as she eyed one of the immobile bodies at her feet only enhanced my sense of wrongness.

She looked as if she were torn between disgust and fascination.

"Are you okay, Immy?" The nickname came forth, unbidden from the recesses of my mind and had the desired effect. It seemed to snap her out of the strange, trance-like state she had fallen into. She summoned a brave smile that didn't quite chase the shadows from her eyes, but succeeded in closing the unseen gap between us.

I returned it shyly, but genuinely, and motioned her forward.

"Here's about as good a place to rest as anywhere. Yoshimo, could you scout ahead and see if we can't just get around the bodies?"

He chuckled. "Certainly. I could dance on the head of a pin as well." Thrown by the random response, but at the same time, amused by it, I almost laughed.

"A strange one, that guy," Imoen quipped. I felt inclined to agree.

'Just going around the bodies' turned out to be a considerable ways further into the labyrinth of tunnels that made up this madman's lair. Everywhere we turned, we seemed to be faced with yet another corpse. The frightening part was the fact that none of them appeared to have any sort of markings on them. For all intents and purposes, they had simply dropped dead.

It was enough to chase the smile from even Yoshimo's merry face. Although he had initially been scouting forward, I called him back when the darkness had thickened to the point I could barely see two feet in front of me. I hated the thought of him being caught alone if he stumbled across anything in the shadows.

He suddenly stiffened, grabbing ahold of my arm tightly. I stifled the urge to cry out as his grip stretched the healing wound on my back. We didn't have the luxury of being careless in such a dangerous setting.

"What is it?" I asked, barely moving my lips.

"Light. I believe I see daylight up ahead," he sounded as jubilant as I felt. Following my example, however, he did not speak above a whisper. I squinted ahead and could only barely see a glimmer in the distance. My eyesight wasn't the best. Imoen's, unfortunately, was much better.

"What are we waiting for?" she demanded breathlessly, breaking the relative quiet. She was already making a dash for it before I could grab at her. I was tired; slow, and no match for her desperation when it had been fueled for so many days by the tortures she had likely been subject to; tortures that I had the fortune of not remembering.

"Imoen! Wait!" Deliberating for only a moment, I broke into a run after the young mage. Later, I would regret my hesitation.

A few seconds later, I heard Yoshimo also throw caution to the winds and give chase, though he did not give away his location to potential threats by screaming, as I had.

The distance to the exit seemed to stretch into an eternity. An eternity of corpses in our path that I, at first, leaped over or attempted to go around. This soon became impossible as the sheer number of them grew until, a few hundred feet from the exit, they were practically piled atop each other... like the grisly trail of some conquering warlord. Their glassy, unseeing eyes stared at me in silent accusation as I trod upon them in a frantic effort to reach my friend.

The irony was lost on me at the time.

Confusion. Explosion. A dazzlingly bright light. Exhausted legs giving way before the tremors that only ceased at a disturbingly familiar arcane command.

I struggled to my feet, greeted by the sounds of combat. The fight, it seemed, was still going strong.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:**

The young noble woman held her face between dirty hands and allowed one final wave of quiet sobbing to overcome her.

The sounds she made were muffled, but still loud within the otherwise silent confines of her room.

By concentrating on her breathing and controlling the hiccups that wracked her weary body, she managed to regain enough composure to rise from her seat on the edge of the Copper Coronet's small, rickety bed. Wiping away the last of her tears, she crossed the room to the stained mirror hanging above her chipped wooden dressing table.

Wet trails ran through the dirt painted across her cheeks, marring a face that, while haggard and slightly ruddy, was also very pretty. She splashed a bit of cool water over her features, and dabbed at the unattractive puffiness under her eyes. Once she had gotten the worst of the grime off, she gave her reflection a stern look.

"No more of that, Nalia. You'll be of no help to anyone, falling into hysterics every time some backwater adventurer refuses your offer." Smiling a bit at the ridiculous habit she had of scolding herself when her over-bearing aunt wasn't around to do it, she realized she felt a little better. Well enough, at least, to venture back downstairs into the inn proper.

'Thank goodness,' she thought. The gods knew it wasn't a good time to be falling to pieces.

The distressed damsel card worked well in the right hands, and perhaps it might have garnered more sympathy to her cause, but Nalia preferred to believe she was above such things. Not to mention the circumstances were just too dire to leave to chance that the right kind of dupe would happen to walk by. No, a more proactive approach was what worked with these people. It was too early in the afternoon for such distasteful theatrics, in any event.

She almost decided to change into something clean before heading back down to the common room, but grudgingly set aside such thoughts. Of course she would attract more attention that way, and be more comfortable besides, but in this kind of establishment, standing out would probably do more harm than good. Also, she didn't want to risk running into the right group of adventurers looking like a spoilt debutante. They might not agree to let her accompany them...

Mind made up, she fixed the intricate system of twists that kept the hair out of her eyes and made sure her short sword was visible on her hip. Although it did feel a bit silly wearing it when she'd had very little training in the art of swordsmanship, she supposed it would show she was earnest, at the very least.

Nalia took great care to make sure she locked the door behind her as she left her little room in the Copper Coronet and made her way downstairs. The common area had managed to swell with even more people in her momentary absence.

A pair of dwarves was making a scene next to the bar. She remembered speaking to one earlier, but he had been so deep in his cups that she hadn't even been sure he'd heard her proposition. Instead of giving her an answer, he finally toddled down from his bar stool only to vomit noisily into a spittoon just beside the door.

He appeared to have recovered and was now engaged in an arm-wrestling bout with his kinsman, a more dour-looking fellow with strange, ruby eyes that peered out from under his hood.

She noted warily that the flirtatious elf who had accosted her this morning had yet to be thrown out by the barkeep. He seemed to be behaving himself at the moment, lounging indolently on his stool and contenting himself by very conspicuously eying the behind of a plump serving wench.

She shook her head and removed her gaze to the rest of the tavern's occupants.

There was a new arrival in the form of a warrior in well-polished armor. He held a shield with an ornate family crest in one hand and a common heavy mace in the other. Was he a knight, perhaps? A possibility to be sure, but Nalia was holding out hope for a larger group of adventurers. This job was too big for just one man. She scanned the crowd closest to her.

To her surprise, there was a somewhat haughty-looking nobleman seated just to the right of the bar. Unlike her, however, he had made no effort to blend in to the local peasantry. A rich tunic she immediately recognized to be of highest-quality cloth and velvet brocade decorated his slim torso, while a belt of silken weave cinched it to his waist. His breeches were of simple dyed wool, but perfectly stitched and tailored to his form.

He met her curious stare with a look of absolute indifference. She would have been affronted had he not been glaring around at every other patron in the same arrogant way... as if they were no more than insects. Uninteresting ones at that.

'Why then would someone like that bother coming into the infamously seedy Copper Coronet?' she wondered, more than a bit vexed by his attitude as it reminded her unpleasantly of a certain would-be fiancé.

"Don't ye know, miss? That be Lord Jierdan Firkraag," Nalia jumped, having not realized she'd spoken aloud. The bartender, Bernard, was a portly man who preferred strolling to and fro about the bar to standing in one place and only speaking to those who sat nearest to the ale. This personable approach had lead him to hearing much more of the common gossip than even your typical innkeeper. He leered widely at her reaction, smearing the grime around inside of a glass he was wiping.

"He be offerin' a handsome reward to anyone who kin rid his lands of ogres or some such..."

"A reward?" Nalia felt her auburn brow wrinkle in renewed worry. "Do you know how much he's offering?"

"Not t' worry, Miss Nalia. No merc I ever knew would turn down the reward of a pretty lass like yerself to work fer a sourpuss lordling who looks as if he don't know a joke from the quiverin' bosom of a midwife." Nalia blinked rapidly, trying her best to banish the unbidden images from her mind.

"Thank you, Bernard. That puts me much more at ease... You haven't spoken to him at all, then?"

"Didnae bother. Ye don't get t'be where I am today, missy, without knowin' which buggers ye kin chat with and which ones do nae care for idle gossip. Somethin' odd about that feller's eyes... Gives me the shivers somethin' fierce, he does."

Nalia hadn't heard the last bit of Bernard's speech for her sight had honed in on a promising-looking band of ruffians toward the front entrance of the tavern. Good manners kicked in and she bade the rotund man a hurried thanks and farewell before quickly weaving herself between tables and patrons, making her way to the group of roughnecks beyond.

From the looks of them, they were not only down on their luck, but quite skilled in the use of the weapons at their belts. In other words, they were just what she was looking for. The large bearded man who she presumed must be their leader was speaking threateningly in a booming voice. The subject of his displeasure soon became apparent.

"I have no wish to continue this sparring with you, sir. I am asking you to desist," a weary female voice said. Nalia was close enough now that she realized a new pair of travelers had entered the bar.

The voice belonged to a shorter woman with long, tangled brown hair and strange eyes. Strange, in that they were a peculiar metallic hue, like the copper of a coin. Her person was entirely covered in grime and dirt and possibly other unmentionable substances. She looked like nothing more than one of the penniless beggars that Nalia looked after when she could sneak away from the keep.

If not for the long sword sheathed at her waist, and the unmistakably calculating look in those odd copper eyes, Nalia would have taken her for a vagabond without thinking twice.

Her companion was a dark-haired, exotic looking man; possibly Karaturan, if she wasn't mistaken. He appeared to be making an attempt at humor to alleviate the situation without much success. His smile grew strained as it became more and more clear that the ruffians were not going to let them leave without a fight.

The pair looked run-down and pitifully out-matched by the group of taller, burlier ruffians.

Their leader guffawed loudly, unabashed and confident that his cronies would back him up. He reached out a hand and casually gave the young woman a shove. Not hard enough to make her fall, but enough that her stance was broken and the Kuraturan had to throw an arm out to steady her.

"Ha Ha! Of course ye would! Yer a goody-goody, aren't ye? A little -" His voice trailed off and Nalia could see why.

The girl had begun to tremble slightly. It wasn't immediately obvious to anyone who wasn't paying attention, but at their proximity, the full-body shudders were unmistakable. Her eyes were also reacting strangely. The pupils had contracted to the point where all you could see was the coppery shade of her irises; the same shade as dried blood, Nalia realized uneasily. The girl's rough, dirt-caked features were twisted into a silent snarl and she looked on the verge of tearing her aggressor's throat out with her teeth.

Just then, a righteous voice spoke up. "You dare place your filthy hands on a lady?"

It was the knight she'd noticed earlier. It seemed he'd made his way over to investigate the ruckus they were causing by the door. He planted his feet in a pose that might have looked heroic had his shield not banged clumsily against a wooden table in his haste to intervene.

The lead thug looked unimpressed by the gesture and rapidly seemed to be regaining his belligerent attitude. The woman had stopped trembling and now seemed more drained than ever as she raised a hand to the weapon at her side, obviously steeling herself for a fight.

Nalia realized that they were now evenly matched; three against three. Before she even processed the thought, her feet began moving in the direction of the crowd. Schooling her face into a disinterested expression, she addressed the ruffian unflinchingly.

"Sir, Lehtinan wants to know why you appear to be accosting his customers before they even have a chance to add their gold to his purse," she announced succinctly. It was a gamble to name-drop like this when she'd never so much as spoken to the man, but the fact that she had the brute pausing in concern lead her to believe she was onto something.

"Didn't know th' big man even knew Amalas' name," he wondered aloud, before sneering at the woman. "I was done with th' little whelp anyway. 'S not worth losin' me drinkin' hole over."

Laughing raucously, the trio made their way toward the bar, content to jeer at the newcomers from a distance. Nalia clucked distastefully at their antics before returning her attention to the others.

"Fair lady, what brings you to this cesspool of corruption?" The knight was now addressing his new-found companions. He seemed almost too eager to join forces with them, though the reason soon became apparent. "I seek to prove my worth to the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. Tell me, my lady, have you a need for a strong sword-arm?"

"Anomen, is it?" The woman inquired, voice heavy with fatigue. "You should know that my ultimate goal is to save a friend from the clutches of the Cowled Wizards. There will probably be significant danger involved."

"That certainly sounds like a worthy cause to pursue," Nalia cut in, finally drawing herself into the conversation. If the knight, Anomen, was to join up with these two, it might be worth it to explain her situation to them. She wasn't about to let the opportunity pass by. "You would need money to do so, of course. You'll find that no one in this city speaks for free."

Attention diverted, the young woman met Nalia's gaze for the first time and - for a very brief instant – she felt unmistakably intimidated. The feeling passed quickly, and she was chagrined at her own reaction. The woman was smaller than her, for Torm's sake!

"Yes, we've already figured out that much," her coppery eyes narrowed slightly and the weariness seemed to drop from her like a cloak. "What is YOUR price?"

"You misunderstand! I want to pay you in exchange for a service," she was quick to point out. Anomen seemed slightly put out that she had monopolized the young woman's attention. He shifted his weight from foot-to-foot impatiently. Nalia plowed on, wanting to keep everyone as amiable as possible.

"My lands have been ransacked by intruders and my father taken hostage. I barely managed to escape with my life and a handful of guards. I came here to Athkatla looking for strong, able hands, and none of this rabble will aid me!" The last was a exclamation born of acute frustration and days of endless worry. The woman seemed to respond to this show of real emotion more than anything else, and appeared to think it over.

Finally, she raised her head and Nalia saw the bone-deep exhaustion had returned to her features.

"We will help you. And Anomen? If you are still interested in joining with us, you are welcome to do so. I'll want to speak with you about the particulars tomorrow once we've had some rest. What did you say your name was?"

Nalia smiled primly. Inside, she was drowning in her own relief. Finally there was a faint ray of hope.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

_Bliss._ Too exhausted even to let out a sigh of grateful relief, I slowly eased my aching limbs into the steaming water of my tiny bath. The tub itself had been crudely fashioned out of a large used ale keg and while the top had been roughly sawn off to leave several splinters behind, I was beyond noticing any of it. The only thing that concerned me was getting the reek of Irenicus' dungeon off.

I counted myself lucky that my small size allowed me to tuck myself inside of the barrel, whereas most patrons likely would have had to stand and pour the water over their heads.

Carefully, I began scrubbing my skin free of the dirt and grime that had settled on my person since our escape. Wincing as I encountered the first of what would likely be several large, deep bruises, I decided to reorder my thoughts into a plan for what the group should do next.

From what I'd been able to glean from Nalia, her mission was a time-sensitive one. The sooner we could set out for her lands, the sooner we could claim a reward that might finance the next stage of my own rescue plans.

Trying desperately not to dwell on why those plans had suddenly become so necessary, I quickly set about the urgent task of washing my hair.

I'd been surprised initially when I'd first uncoiled it, by how long it had grown. Just how much time had we spent down there? Had it been that long before? Luckily, the tightness of my braids had kept the worst of the sludge from sinking too deeply into the thick locks. I made swift work of the tangled, knotted mess.

"Are you all right, Rem?" The cool, feminine voice of my companion startled me out of the drowsy, complacent stupor I had fallen into.

"I'm fine," I called over the tall, wooden changing screen she'd insisted I use. While I didn't mind her modesty, I had been more than a little baffled by how vehemently she and Anomen had opposed my rooming together with Yoshimo.

Both seemed a little too preoccupied with propriety for my tastes, though I supposed it could just be an Amnian thing. Or perhaps an upper class thing, as evidenced by the fact that Nalia was clearly of noble stock and Anomen's crested shield spoke of a prominent family name.

While I'd been prepared for Yoshimo to make some canny remark about how my virtue was safe from his lascivious ways, I'd been shocked at his show of restraint. Perhaps he'd noticed how bone-weary I was. Perhaps he was trying to make it clear that he was on my side and in the wake of Imoen's disappearance, understood that it was not time yet for jokes. Perhaps he simply needed a respite as badly as I did. Regardless, the only expression he'd given me was one of faint concern and pity. Not the kind of pity that was born out of disgust or contempt, but the gentle kind, teeming with empathy.

Wringing out the soapy moisture from my hair, I finally stood and reached for the small bucket of still steaming rinse water. I reveled in the deluge as it streamed over my back and aching shoulders, rinsing away every last trace of grime in its wake, before joining the tepid, dirty pool I was now standing in.

"You look much different without the muck of a thousand sewers caked on you," Nalia intoned as I finally appeared from behind the screen clad in a towel. Clearly from her earlier overtures of friendship, she intended this comment to come across as a compliment. Too tired to do more than throw a half-hearted smile in her direction, I made my way to the small cot across the room.

Nalia hadn't offered to give up the bed. I suspected the thought had honestly not even crossed her mind. Her upbringing seemed to imply this was the case, at least. It _was_ considerate of her, however, to offer to study her spellbook in the common room while I rested, instead of keeping me up with the light. I was having a difficult enough time adjusting to the brightness of everything above-ground after being held in captivity for so long.

Seeing that I intended to dress in her proffered shift for bed, Nalia swiftly made herself scarce. The door clicked shut behind her and I quickly dropped the nightdress over my head, savoring the soft, light cotton against my freshly scrubbed skin.

The cot smelled faintly of sweat and body odor, but I instantly threw myself upon it, expecting that sleep would claim me soon enough that it wouldn't be an issue for much longer. Feeling more comfortable than I had in what felt like weeks, my eyes closed and I began to drift into slumber.

_Frightened blue eyes. Pale, tear-streaked cheeks. Such a horrible, palpable, creeping feeling of inevitability and dread as the sadistic bastard calmly placed both himself and Imoen in the custody of the cowled ones. _

My eyelids stubbornly refused to stay closed. Shame and guilt were taking turns gnawing at my insides the longer I dwelt on Imoen's capture. With nothing left for me to think about and distract myself with, the full weight of it all was just beginning to sink in.

'No one will see me now if I cry,' I thought, surprising myself with the suddenness of the realization. 'I don't have to look strong and confident lying alone on a smelly cot in the Copper Coronet.'

The impulse was tempting, but my fatigue was so profound, I just couldn't summon the tears. And then I remembered what Yoshimo had said after the dust had cleared.

"Odd that this wizard stopped fighting… and odder still that he demanded your young companion be taken and not you-" He turned then and started a bit at my expression. While I wasn't aware of what my face was doing, he must have read something in it that seemed to genuinely soften him. "I say this not to make you feel guilt, young one. Do not despair. We will find her."

He had known the guilt would consume me, even before I did. How? Had someone in his past suffered in his place and caused him the same feelings of shame?

The most perplexing thing of all was wondering why this was happening to Imoen and I of all people? Could it be because of this bhaalspawn taint inside of me that Irenicus had been so curious about? Who was I that I was of such interest to this madman? And what did Imoen have to do with it?

Just behind the self-loathing was the feeling of utter and complete loneliness. I had nothing and no one to help me piece together this mystery. Nothing and no one to rely on. Surely I would go mad. Imoen was my one link to my past, and with her gone… The world becomes a much harsher, crueler, emptier place when you realize you have to face it alone.

Before I even realized it, I was out of bed and leaving the room. I padded quietly down the hall toward the door I knew to be Anomen and Yoshimo's. While the young knight hadn't seemed particularly thrilled at the prospect of sharing his room with the jovial bounty hunter, he had apparently found the notion of us rooming together even more distasteful. The Kara-Turan had followed my lead in not questioning the Amnish and their odd sense of propriety.

Anomen opened the door after just two knocks. He was dressed down for the night and I was clearly able to see from his features that he was much younger than I'd originally presumed. Though the carefully cropped beard and coiffed brown hair did give him a slightly more mature look, it was the eyes that betrayed his youth. His were clear blue eyes that reminded me painfully of Imoen's.

I smiled politely, choosing to ignore the bright blush that decorated his cheeks at the sight of me in my shift. I'd been remiss in choosing appropriate attire before leaving my room, apparently. Nothing I could do now that he'd already seen me, though.

"I need to speak to Yoshimo for a moment."

"But!—My lady, you can't be serious. Perhaps you should seek him out on the morrow after you've rested. Once you've dressed…" His flush threatened to engulf his whole face and he was studiously avoiding looking at any part of me that was covered by soft white cotton. It was almost endearing, but while I appreciated the show of chivalry, I couldn't leave without getting what I'd come for.

"Anomen, why don't you go downstairs and keep Nalia company? We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I don't want her accosted by some drunkard while she's trying to study her spells." Before he could protest, I plowed on, aiming to exploit his sense of chivalry. "Go ahead and escort her to her room when she's finished."

He hovered hesitantly in the door- frame for a few moments, blocking my view of the room beyond, before reluctantly hefting his mace over his shoulder and turning to leave. He frowned at me one last time, opening his mouth to voice another objection, before seeming to think better of it. I waited until he disappeared around the corner before stepping inside the small room and shutting the door behind me.

A changing screen, similar to the one I'd used to bathe, stood before me stretched out to its full length, almost comically dividing the already cramped room into halves.

I hesitated for a moment; surely Yoshimo had heard me speaking with Anomen. Why hadn't he risen to receive me? Could he possibly know why I was here? As if he'd heard my errant thoughts, the bounty hunter rounded the edge of the screen and nodded to me in silent greeting.

"Hey, it's me. Can I come in?" I announced myself, wincing at the unsure, plaintive quality of my voice. His serious expression cracked at once into a pleasant grin.

"What can I do for you, my lovely?" His eyes crinkled ever-so-slightly at the corners. Finding them oddly interesting, I guessed his age to be over a score of years but no more than 30. Gone was his half-shredded leather armor. In its place was a plain black tunic and baggy, brown cloth trousers. The pants were wound in black cloth around the shins and tucked securely into sturdy leather boots. Underneath, he looked to be lean and wiry in build, with finely muscled arms and a trim waist.

His brow rose at my quick, but conspicuous inspection, and despite assuring myself that it had only been casual interest, I felt the back of my neck heat.

Turning, I made my way to the small bed in the corner. Anomen's plate mail had been neatly propped between the bed and wall where a thief would be forced to leap over the sleeping man in order to lay hands on it. Some kind of not-so-subtle statement, I was sure.

A singled wasted candle sat burning on the bedside table. That and the moonlight streaming in from behind the changing screen were the only sources of light in the tiny room.

"So he is a man of the gods…" Yoshimo's soft whisper caught me off guard, and I sat myself on the edge of the bed with less grace than I'd intended. I understood what he meant, however, when I realized what the trinket on the table next to the candle must be.

"The holy symbol for Helm, right?" I muttered, bending closer to examine the small talisman shaped into a steel gauntlet. In the center of the open palm the craftsman had engraved a single watchful eye. "Do you have a god or goddess you worship?"

"The people of my country have faith in over eight million gods. None of which you would have heard of, surely." He smirked a bit at my open-mouthed reaction before leaning in to study the talisman at my side. His face took on a more pensive look. "It is good that our young friend prays. We will need the healing touch of his god even more than his sword-arm if we are to succeed in finding your lost friend."

"Do you think we even will?" My question was delivered softly to the blaze of the candle, rather than to my companion. I took a deep breath – slowly to prevent any shakiness – before meeting his gaze. My face settled into a wooden expression. It wasn't as calm or collected as I wanted it to be, but it was the best I could do.

Yoshimo didn't disappoint me. His smile was still fixed in place, but it had morphed into one of compassion. One that radiated comfort and concern. He sat down carefully next to me causing the bed to dip under his weight. I shifted to compensate and it was all I could do to prevent myself from falling against his side, into the warmth of the body next to mine, and cry.

Without words, the smiling thief simply placed an arm around me, pinning me exactly where I wanted to be. He smelled faintly of incense and the soap he'd used to bathe with.

"Tsuyokunaru, Rem." The foreign words affected me less than hearing his rough, accented voice speak them. At my raised eyebrow, he chuckled. "'Be strong,' my young friend. We will find your Imoen."

Just as quickly as it had happened, his arm released me and he shifted his body away from mine. He remained next to me on the bed, but now sat a respectable distance away. I felt curiously cold.

"Besides. I know something of the Shadow Thieves, as I mentioned before. I know that even if they cannot be fully trusted, they do know more about the goings-on in the city than any other organization we are likely to encounter. More than you perhaps realize." His eyes gleamed in the candlelight and I glimpsed a row of white teeth beneath his sharp grin. "It is a lead; a starting point for us to investigate. The path is set before you. All you need is to follow it."

He sounded so sure. Despite my persistent doubts, I knew this was the best encouragement I could hope for. Everything else would have to come from me. Crying about it certainly wouldn't magically summon Imoen to my side.

I smiled, opening my mouth to thank him, when a pounding of fist on wood jarred me out of my thoughts. After precisely three knocks, Anomen threw the door open and stumbled slightly in his haste to enter.

"Lady Nalia has chosen to retire early," he said, by way of explanation. His eyes narrowed a bit at the positions we had taken up on his mattress. To his credit, however, he refrained from making any comments. "Are you done with your talk, milady? Shall I escort you to your chambers?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you. I can make it on my own," I said, throwing a smile at him to soften the blunt refusal.

As Yoshimo and I rose from our seats, our eyes met briefly. I mouthed the words 'thank you,' without really knowing why I didn't want Anomen to overhear. It had seemed like such a private moment. It felt right to keep it just between the two of us.

A cheeky grin and a slight, subtle bow were his response.

Bidding my companions a good evening, I retreated from the room and made my way down the drafty corridor to the room I shared with Nalia.

Once inside, I peered around to find a tousled auburn head poking out from under the bedsheets on the mattress in the corner. I retired to my smelly cot with a smile. The unpleasant scent only reminded me of how nice Yoshimo had smelled in comparison.

My eyes closed almost immediately and I knew nothing more until the next morning.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

The new day dawned brightly for Anomen Delryn. Before his companion had even stirred from his side of the bed-chamber, the young priest was already washed, clothed, groomed, and ready to begin his early morning devotions to Helm.

'_Lazy slugabed,_' he thought, with no small amount of satisfaction. The sound of easy breathing, heavy with sleep, would surely interrupt his morning devotional if he did not find a quieter setting, but there was none to be found in the Copper Coronet that offered the solitude he required. He would simply have to force himself to concentrate.

With careful reverence, he gently placed his holy symbol, the silver gauntlet of Helm, on the bedside table before him. He cleared his mind with practiced ease, confidently casting his awareness out like a great net, searching for the staunch, uncompromising presence of his god.

It sometimes took a few moments to reestablish that elusive connection, but it never failed to give him a spiritual rush when it finally took place. The humbleness he felt in the exchange was profound.

When he'd first described the feeling to his sister, Moira, she had laughed her sweet laugh that rang through his ears like silver bells. He remembered huffing indignantly and preparing to bestow on her a torrent of affronted words beginning with 'righteous' and ending with 'blasphemy,' before she had explained herself, still working her way out of hysterics.

"You want to know why it felt so profound, my brother?" She had asked, her voice teasing. "It is because it's the first time in your life you have ever truly been humbled by anything!"

As always, the thought of his younger sister made him smile wistfully. Would that she had married by now and left that poisonous house where she had no one but their bile-soaked father to keep her company… she had always been too stubborn for her own good, and loyal to a fault.

She had meant what she said in a less than complimentary way, he knew, but as was usually the case with Moira, he had no way of arguing with her. She laughed off his prepared speeches and stern lectures, running away before he could shake some sense into her.

When he thought about her words now, however, he couldn't find it in himself to deny that they rang true.

Even as a child – even in response to his father's frequent drunken rages – he had never been one to meekly comply. At his best, he surrendered in a sullen, outspokenly-rebellious acquiescence. More than one beating during his childhood had cured him of putting to voice such blatant defiance, but he had still nursed resentment and mutinous thoughts well into his adolescence.

Only his mother had ever inspired a modicum of humility, with her soft reprimands and gentle guiding hands. She had been the one to introduce him to the temple of Helm…

Dragging himself away from the wandering path his thoughts had taken at the mention of his god, Anomen sternly turned his mind back to his task and dutifully began reciting his many prayers.

On the opposite side of the room, sudden movement indicated that his companion had awoken. He finished his recitations quickly, deciding hastily that he was not of a mind to exchange polite small talk with the dark man.

It was early yet to don his gear, but Helm only knew he would sooner snort a leech up his nose than leave it within reach of someone so obviously untrustworthy.

How the Lady Rem could travel with such a low lout was beyond him.

And now, finally, his mind turned – quite by accident – upon the subject of his new leader. He had been careful not to consider her too familiarly since he did not know yet what manner of relationship she shared with the Kara-Turan.

It was inconceivable to him that such a lady of obvious integrity and righteousness could ally herself with scum like Yoshimo, and truthfully, the matter gave him pause. He allowed himself to admit, however, that she was comely.

He turned this admission over in his mind while buckling the last strap on his chest plate and hefting his shield over one shoulder to its resting place on his back.

The gentle sound of splashing water from behind their changing screen suggested that Yoshimo had just begun the process of washing and would join him shortly. Anomen made quick work of his belt before grabbing the heavy mace that currently served as his weapon, and heading out the door. He turned his mind back to more pleasant thoughts.

For what harm were they really? He could appreciate a well-formed female in the same way he might appreciate a work of art. It was nothing shameful to look on something and examine its beauty; although he hesitated to use the word 'beauty' in this instance.

Lady Rem was not a dainty creature like the debutantes he had known and danced with in his youth before his duties to the temple had consumed his time. Even her name lacked any obvious femininity.

She was small, yes, but her frame was thicker and sleekly muscular; clearly she had chosen a harder, graceless path in life. The slashed and fraying leathers she'd worn the previous night had attested to that, although they failed to fully disguise the curves of her womanly form.

And he could certainly attest to the womanliness of those curves…

Flushing dark red, Anomen struggled to rid his mind of the vision of his party leader in the thin shift she had worn the night before during her visit with Yoshimo. He had been shocked, not just at her state of dress, but also by how lovely she looked without the dirt and mud to mar her pretty face. Her facial features had a kittenish look to them that wasn't unappealing…

Anomen was suddenly jolted from his train of thought when he was thoughtlessly crashed into by some passersby on the stair leading down to the common room. The harsh words on the tip of his tongue died a swift death when he saw that it was the Lady Nalia and Rem herself.

"A good morning to you, my Lady Nalia. And to you, my Lady Rem." Awkwardness lent an overly formal edge to his words, and his tongue felt like moist wool in his mouth.

It was not obeying his commands quickly enough, and he grew crimson again, this time because he couldn't help the niggling suspicion that they had somehow overheard his errant thoughts.

"Honestly, Anomen, you can call me Rem. 'Lady' just doesn't sound right, especially since you've seen me in my— Oh, morning, Yoshimo."

Any cause for interruption was welcome, and Anomen found himself considering the thief in a more favorable light now as he joined them.

"Ladies," Yoshimo greeted smoothly, bowing slightly and offering a bright smile. "Sir Anomen."

His blood heated again. Was the cad mocking him? He had mentioned the evening previous that he had not yet had the pleasure of being knighted. Was he baiting him; throwing his inadequacies in his face? Or had he made a simple mistake? The friendly smile on his face made it impossible to guess.

"I think I have mentioned that I have not yet attained knighthood, thief," Anomen announced coldly. Rem looked at him with a sharpness that surprised him. There was no condemnation in her stare, but he felt wayward and recalcitrant regardless. If her sex had ever called her leadership ability into question, that look alone would have silenced all word on the subject.

He knew with sudden surety that he could and would follow this woman into battle if she asked it of him.

Gone were the grimy leathers from yesterday. They had no doubt been deemed unserviceable and would be replaced at the soonest opportunity. Instead, she was outfitted in traveler's garb consisting of an oversize, emerald-green tunic that hung off her shoulders and darker green leggings of the same rough-spun cotton material.

The colors accented her eyes in a way that made them look almost crimson in some lights, and when she shifted, he was stunned to catch a fleeting glimpse of her cream-colored chemise peeking innocently from where the straps hung, barely concealed, on each shoulder.

Her hair, far longer than the practical length for a fighting female, had been tamed into two thick braids that met at the back of her head and continued as one to the center of her back. The color was a dark, chestnut brown, he noted.

Forcing himself to pay attention as she spoke, he only just managed to catch her next words.

"We'll need to outfit ourselves with gear that will get us through the next few days. Nalia and I will handle provisions and supplies, while the two of you hit up the Adventurer's Mart for equipment and weapons. Yoshimo, you know what we need. We'll meet back here at high noon, have our last hot meal, and head out to the De'Arnise Keep."

Anomen opened his mouth to object before thinking about it.

"My Lady, you cannot expect me to complete such tasks with a base thief in tow! We shall be thrown out the second the shopkeeper observes him closely enough."

"Why do you think I've paired you with him?" Her face broke into a grin. "No one would think him up to mischief with you watching him, Anomen."

So she meant to employ him as watchdog? He felt he should be more upset at the gall of it. Him, a soon-to-be knight of the Order, playing at glorified wet-nurse to a sneaking thief! As usual, when confused, his blunt honesty got the better of him.

"I do not know whether or not to be offended, my lady."

To his shock, she laughed. Her face transformed, and he was suddenly thrown by how young she seemed. Though she hadn't looked precisely **old** before, there had been a grimness about her face that hung heavily there, creating the illusion of worry lines where there were really none. He saw that her actual age might even be younger than his, though not by more than a year or two.

Now, refreshed and laughing, she drew more appreciative looks than just his, he noted with some uneasiness. Yoshimo was certainly watching her now with eyes that seemed to glimmer wickedly, though she was clearly too much a lady to notice.

Feeling oddly protective, he realized with some measure of wonderment that her laugh sounded a little like Moira's.

Still grinning, she carefully withdrew a small money-pouch from her belt and placed it in his hand.

"I meant it as a compliment, Anomen. Your honor is beyond reproach and should be obvious to anyone who takes even a second to look at you. Plus," she inserted, aiming an impish glance at Yoshimo. "Your distaste for him should make it equally apparent that you're not above turning him over to the authorities should you discover him with his hands in places they shouldn't be."

"You wound me deeply, most lovely Rem," the Kara-Turan replied laughingly. "My hands have never gone anywhere they were not wanted."

Anomen felt like crushing the lout's skull. How dare he make such an indelicately suggestive remark in the hearing of ladies! He glanced at Nalia and noticed with some pleasure that she looked even more appalled than he felt.

He understood the man was necessary to their mission and could not be turned out of their party without a suitable replacement showing up, but surely a stern reprimand was in order, at the very least.

Why then was their leader blushing like a maiden?

* * *

Author's Notes: I won't always do these, but just for fun, here are Rem's stats, mostly because - aside from class - this will probably never be explicitly stated in the story.

Race: Human

Alignment: Neutral Good

Class: Ranger

Stats: Str - 14, Dex - 17, Con - 16, Int - 10, Wis - 15, Cha - 17

Thanks to Vild Runescarred, Blue-inked Frost, Pontenigra1, and Ann for your thoughtful reviews. I'm having fun writing the story, and I'm glad you all are getting some enjoyment out of reading it. :)


End file.
